Mississippi, with its rich and dramatic history, holds a special place in the civil rights movement. Perhaps no other institution in that state, or in the South as a whole, has been more of a battleground for race relations or a barometer for progress than the University of Mississippi. Even the school's affectionate nickname - Ole Miss - bespeaks its place in the legacy of the South: now used as short for Old Mississippi, "Ole Miss" was once a term of respect used by slaves for the wife of a plantation owner.
Throughout the first part of this century, the state's "Boll Weevil" legislators presented the most implacable hostility to black enrollment. The campus itself - with its stately white columns and field of Confederate flags at sporting events - seemed almost frozen in time. With the civil rights movement and the arrival of the first black student in 1962, the quietly determined James Meredith, violence and hatred erupted with regularity on the verdant campus. Even following years of progress, when a young black man and young white woman were elected "Colonel Rebel" and "Miss Ole Miss," the highest campus honors, the pair appeared in the traditional yearbook photograph separated by a picket fence, still suggesting old taboos.
Once an unrepentant enclave of educational separatism in the South, the history of Ole Miss has paralleled the nation's own in race relations: the rocky beginnings of integration following Meredith's admission; the discord of the sixties and seventies, when activist black students eschewed crew cuts and varsity sweaters for Afros and clenched fists; to the delicate reconciliation of recent years. A drastically changed campus today, Ole Miss continues to wrestle with its controversial mascot, "Colonel Rebel," and questions of whether the emotional chords of "Dixie" should still be heard at its football games.
The history of Ole Miss offers a detailed portrait of the uneasy yet cautiously optimistic ways in which American society continues to come to terms with its racial divisions. In The Band Played Dixie, Nadine Cohodas brings to life the people, issues, emotions, disputes, and symbols that transformed Ole Miss into a successfully integrated school, wed in principal to the notion of racial harmony.
This is a well-written soap opera from hell. But if only it were fiction. Learning what bureaucratic tangle was woven by the University of Mississippi to keep a handful of brave African Americans off its student roster is beyond eye-opening. (So was finding out what "Ole Miss" means: It's is the expression slaves used for the wife of a plantation owner.)
This is a very thorough history told in swift, engaging narrative. I came out with a much better understanding of the university’s history (1950s-1990s) and its 1962 integration.
I recommend this book. Challenging read that is forcing me to seek a more nuanced view of southern culture and tradition. There's some bad history and tradition there that I sometimes just don't want to deal with.
The book recounts the history of race relations at Ole Miss from its founding to about 2012. Pretty factual without expressing a lot of slant/opinion. The timeline of the handling of the James Meredith situation is fascinating; made me so angry with the Ross Barnetts and Judge Mizes of the world.
I listened to this book on Audible. The narrator is horrible (monotone and robotic), but the content still held me. You may prefer a hard copy, though, if you ever read it.
A history of racial conflict at Ole Miss, and of the controversial practice of playing Dixie and waving the Confederate flag at their football and basketball games. Stark, surprising, sad, and well-written.
Fascinating look at integration at Univ of Mississippi. Most compelling is that the book does not start and stop with James Meredith but instead covers the university's entire history from pre-Civil War to the 1990s to show how history acts, covers, and reacts in context.